


Crossed Lines

by 391780 (goblinparty)



Series: Cold Wind [17]
Category: Fargo (2014)
Genre: Gen, M/M, a child dies, sorry y'all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-17
Updated: 2014-09-17
Packaged: 2018-02-17 18:25:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2319038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goblinparty/pseuds/391780
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The job was supposed to be a simple one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crossed Lines

The job was supposed to be a simple one. Burst in, kill the guy, kill his wife, make a mess, get out. Fargo had indicated it should look like a robbery gone bad, which was basically his way of giving Numbers permission to steal as much petty cash and jewelery as he could. Wrench and Numbers sat in the dark, watching the shadows from inside the mobile home move around. They waited until the lights were all out and waited an additional two hours before approaching, weapons drawn. They moved in sync, footsteps and paces matching as they closed in on the trailer. They paused briefly at the door, Numbers nodded, and Wrench kicked the door in with a crash as Numbers stormed inside, gun in hand. A man and a woman blinked stupidly at him from their bed, unable to react before Numbers fired two rounds into each of them, sending them flying back with a spray of blood. He could hear Wrench behind him, loudly turning the place upside down. Numbers almost didn't hear the small whimper over the crash of breaking dishes and falling chairs. He rounded the bed and saw a small boy sitting on an inflatable mattress on the floor, tears streaming down his face, staring in terror at Numbers and his weapon. Numbers froze, and heard Wrench approach from behind and give a sharp intake of breath. The two men shared a glance before looking back at the shivering child whose blankets were covered in the blood and brain tissue of his dead parents. Numbers let out an exasperated sigh. Fargo had never mentioned a kid. The boy couldn't have been much older than nine or ten, and he was wide eyed and shaking with fear. Numbers looked to Wrench, who was still staring at the boy with an expression of shock and horror. There was really only one thing to be done with a witness, no matter how small. Numbers raised his weapon and fired into the child's face, sending blood and brain flying in every direction. A small scream burst out of Wrench, surprising his partner. They both stood silently, staring at the small corpse until Wrench socked Numbers in the arm to get his attention

_How could you?!_ Wrench was mortified. He knew killing was part of their job, but  _**children?** _ Numbers had crossed a line.

_Are you serious right now? He saw us! Saw what we did! He's old enough to describe us! It had to be done!_ Wrench took deep offense to Numbers' incredulity. A kid was still a kid, after all, and no amount of justification could make Wrench OK with it.

_We could have done something else! Driven him into another state and left him in a gas station!_

_Really? Abandoning him and leaving him to child services is somehow less cruel? Besides, it's no guarantee he wouldn't talk!_ Numbers threw up his hands and turned his back, clearly done with the conversation. He felt Wrench tap his shoulder, and moved quickly to sign before his partner could get another word in.  _It's done! OK? No point arguing. Let's tear this place apart and go home. We're professionals, goddammit, so act like one!_

Wrench bit his lip and nodded curtly. He had no intention of letting this go, but he certainly didn't feel like standing around in a trailer full of corpses any longer than he needed to. He turned away from Numbers and the dead boy, trying to keep his face stone still as he took out his anger and sorrow on the contents of the trailer.

______

The ride home was a tense one. They didn't typically talk during their drives (as it made Numbers nervous to see Wrench steer with his knees on icy roads), but this time the silence was thick and palpable. Wrench was livid, which was not something Numbers was used to. In all their time together, they'd never really had a fight of this magnitude, and having Wrench be angry with him made Numbers feel sick and anxious. Numbers rationalized that while it was a bad thing to do on a general moral scale, killing the kid was the right thing to do in terms of keeping them safe and out of prison. Numbers had always been the type to look out for number one, and the day's events further proved that point. He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He could feel a headache coming on, and didn't think it was going to let up anytime soon. As they pulled into a dingy motel parking lot, Numbers wondered to himself if Wrench had spent the drive trying to understand his point of view at all or if he was simply sulking. Wrench tapped Numbers on the shoulder, and Numbers felt an immediate wave of relief. Finally they would talk, would move past this bullshit and get on with their lives.

_Get two rooms. I don't want to see you._ Wrench's expression was hard, and Numbers' fleeting solace turned to nausea.

_Seriously?!_

_Yes. Seriously. I can't stand to look at you._ Numbers' heart felt like it stopped, but he refused to back down. He was in the right, and he' was not about to let Wrench know that his guilting tactics were working. 

_Fine. I'll get your key and see you in the morning._ Numbers returned shortly, throwing the key card at Wrench's chest without making eye contact and making a beeline for his own room, where he collapsed on the creaky bed. He wished he had a drink. Hell, he wished he had a dozen. In all his years as a professional killer and bully, he'd only had a crisis of conscience maybe a half dozen times, all of them at the very beginning of his career. He wasn't a rookie anymore, and had become more practical about life and death as he got older. He was irritated at Wrench's naivete, but also terrified that his partner would leave him. The possibility was all too real. Wrench could easily team up with Hammer and refuse to see or speak to Numbers again. A sob welled up in his chest. Possibly losing Wrench was his only regret of the day. Fuck the kid, he should never have been there. Fargo should have gotten the intel right, or at the very least given them some sort of heads up. Numbers refused to be responsible for all of this. It was Wrench's soft heart, Fargo's incompetence, the kid's parents hiding him on the floor that caused this mess. The sobs became stronger, causing his ribs to ache. He tried not to think about it, but Wrench's horrorstruck visage haunted his mind until he finally cried himself to sleep.

Wrench sat alone in his room, trying to erase the image of the dead child from his mind. Worse than the dead child was Numbers' face, stone cold and emotionless as he pulled the trigger. Wrench had promised himself he'd stick with Numbers in this lifestyle, but back then he hadn't realized exactly how ruthless a killer his partner was. Maybe it just wasn't worth it anymore. Maybe this dream he'd had of building a new family with Numbers and Hammer was just a fallacy. He thought about Hammer briefly, and wondered if his brother had ever done anything quite as heinous as executing a young boy. A silent tear ran down his cheek as he laid back and closed his eyes to sleep. He did not look forward to whatever dreams awaited him that night, and desperately wished he could just skip ahead in time to when he could be home in his own bed and far away from this mess.

____

The rest of the drive home was just as tense as the day before. Wrench dropped off Numbers at his apartment, silently grateful for the older man's hesitance to move in with him. If they'd lived together it would have been a lot more difficult to ignore him. Days went by and Wrench refused to answer Numbers' texts or open his door for him. His crossness increased with every attempted contact. He just wanted Numbers to go away, what was so hard to understand about that? 

Numbers was growing desperate. He'd done everything short of apologize, and still Wrench was still refusing all contact. Somewhere in the back of his mind he considered an apology, but he knew Wrench would be able to detect the insincerity of it , thus only making matters worse. Numbers kept a regular schedule; text in the morning, stopping by Wrench's apartment in the evening. Days had gone by, and by the end of the week he was starting to panic. Finally, around the 9 th day, he received a reply back.

_Come over at six._ Numbers felt his heart jump into his throat. Those four words were ecstasy, but they made him feel uneasy at the same time. Was Wrench going to finally talk to him? Or just end it all then and there? Numbers spent an extra half hour on his appearance before heading over, combing and re-combing his hair and trimming his beard. If he was going to plead to be taken back, he wanted to at least be presentable.

Numbers stood outside the door, checking his watch and ringing the bell at exactly 6pm. The door cracked open and he felt his heart soar... and then plummet immediately at seeing Hammer.

“Is, uh, your brother home? I think he's expecting me.”

“Wrench isn't here. He's been at my place. Figured you wouldn't look there, I guess.”

“But he said to meet him here?” Hammer flashed a sheepish smile.

“That was me. Sorry. Got tired of having baby brother mope around for a week and thought I'd intervene.” He nodded Numbers towards a spot on the couch and strolled into the kitchen as he talked. “He's downright miserable without you, for some reason. Kid hasn't smiled for over a week, and it's starting to worry me.” Numbers sat in silence, listening to Hammer dig around in the refrigerator.

“He won't talk to me.” Numbers felt his voice crack a bit and hoped to god Hammer hadn't noticed.

“Yeah, I know. He told me what happened.” Hammer sounded solemn.

“Oh.” Numbers' stomach knotted slightly.

“Nasty business. Too bad. Had to happen, though.” Hammer re-emerged from the kitchen with two beers and handed one to Numbers. “I've tried telling him that it could have been worse, that a bullet to the brain isn't a bad way to go. He's just in shock, I think. He's always had a soft spot for kids.” Hammer grinned to himself, obviously reliving a memory of his brother in his mind. “Little kids don't judge, you know? They don't care if you can't hear or talk or see or walk. They just want to play, and if you'll play with them then nothing else matters. Kids have always been good to him.”

Numbers stared at his feet. He felt weary, like all the energy had been drained from him. He understood Wrench's position, but he would still shoot a thousand children in the face if it meant keeping Wrench alive and out of a maximum security prison. He recognized how monstrous the act was, but couldn't deny the truth of it. His and Wrench's safety and freedom came above all else- even Fargo.

“Do you think he'll ever forgive me?” Hammer took a long swig of his beer before replying.

“Yeah. I think he will. It'll just take some time.” Hammer put his hand on Numbers' shoulder. “I'll talk to him some more, try to get him to see it our way.” Numbers nodded numbly. _Our way._ Numbers felt grateful to have an ally, someone who could talk to Wrench and actually be listened to. Numbers hoped that the brotherly bond was strong enough to get Wrench at least back on speaking terms with him. He and Hammer sipped their beers in silence as Numbers' mind raced a million miles per hour. He wondered if Wrench would ever come back to him, if he'd ever hold him, or even agree to work with him again. He felt his lip shake slightly and bit it to keep from tearing up in front of the man beside him.

“You're really worried about him.” Hammer's voice broke the silence, slightly startling Numbers.

“He's my partner.” Hammer snickered at that.

“Right. _Partner._ ” The larger man took a swig of beer. “Gimme a few more hours to calm him down. I still don't think he gets that you did it to keep him out of trouble.”

“Yes! Exactly! That's what I've been trying to tell him all fucking week!” Numbers was glad that, at the very least, someone who _looked_ like Wrench could understand his motives.

“He's stubborn, and to be honest, a bit of a greenhorn. I think this might be the first time a job's gotten messy on him and he's not sure how to handle it.” Hammer stood up. “You stay here. I'll bring him back over and you can hash it out. This needs resolved. Y'all are professionals, you gotta get your shit together and figure this out.” Hammer strode outside, pulling on his jacket as he swung the door closed, leaving Numbers alone with his thoughts, waiting until Wrench returned. He felt woefully under prepared for the confrontation to follow, and reclined on the couch, finishing his beer and listening intently for the sound of the doorknob jiggling, hoping to god that he could make this right. He looked out the window at the twilight, and found himself begging one lone star to please, please, _please,_ give him his boyfriend back.

 

 


End file.
